Woken from wakefulness

During training, my roommate was a quiet Pakistani gentleman around the same age as myself.  He had also previously studied Chinese, so I thought we'd have quite a bit in common.  Nope, super introverted, and when he spoke, he'd ask me shit like if I wanted to spar with him...though I didn't do much to try and bridge the gap either.  All this I could ignore, but one thing devout Muslims do is pray five times a day.  Again, no problem, really.

Except for the session that comes at 5:30 am.

That still wouldn't be an issue, but the Hess training is intensive.  Sitting in a room listening to people prattle on about child psychology and advanced teaching methods has never been so exhausting.  These people want you to believe you're engaging in a legitimate career.  And then after a long day of trying to stay awake during training demos, we would have to work with our group members to come up with half-assed demos of our own.  If you've ever tried working with people when your nerves are frayed from lack of sleep, then you know how tough that was.  And we'd have to repeat the same shit the next day, except I had to start my day at 5:30.  EVERY FUCKING MORNING.

I've joked with Tyler and Brian that they paired me with my Pakistani friend because anyone else would have gone crazy and quit, or simply died.  Lack of sleep would have just killed them.  I was the only buff-ass motherfucker with enough grit to cope with the stressful situations we found ourselves in with as little sleep as I got.  I even half-believed it too.

Now that I've lived in Taiwan for three months now I know better.  Actually I probably sleep even worse now than I did then, and I was jet-lagged at the time.  My night is constantly interrupted from the sounds of running water, furniture being moved around, banging on the wall, or other sounds transmitted through the cotton-candy sound-proofing the walls provide.  You can hear everything everyone in the whole goddamn building is doing, even if a couple was whispering sweet nothings to each other in bed.  An AC unit has been installed on my balcony-side wall, and while this'll allow me to survive the intensive heat soon to come, it's effectively a hole to all the sound and bullshit outside.  Frogs chorus in the deep night, and the train rolls by in the early morning, giving me a very narrow window for uninterrupted sleep.  And then there's the sun, rising around 6am, piercing through my curtains.  Every time I've tried to wear a sleeping mask I find myself waking with the sun, and my mask flung across the room sometime in my fitful slumber.  I have a feeling the same thing would happen to any earplugs I try to wear.

It was during Sunday night, a night much like any other, that my phone rudely jolted me awake.  Most of the time I mute that goddamn thing and miss calls, and now when I'm trying to sleep...I fumble for it making a note of the current hour: 6:00 am.  Well, this should prove interesting:

Brian: "I just got in a fight in a bar."
Me: "Wha-, what happened?"
Brian: "This guy took me to a club and said he was going to pay for everything, then took my money, like $1000."
Me: "Chris?"
Brian: "Hahaha, not Chris.  He was a Chris though.  So we end up going there and shit is crazy.  Don't remember half of anything because girls keep feeding me drinks.  Finally, it's time to go and they hold me hostage while they're settling the bill.  I just wait there and eat more watermelon which they've prepared for other guests.  They finally let me go and the guy who took my money is pissed.  He fucking slashes my ear open with a knife and I just take him to the ground and tell him to chill the fuck out."
Me: "Holy shit."
Brian: "I let him go, and the guy runs to the closest vendor and picks up salad tongs.  I kid you not he picks up a pair of salad tongs.  I'm thinking, "what the fuck are you going to do with salad tongs, you dumb slut?"  So I get in his face and tell him, "Do something.  Do something or I'm going home.  I would love for you to do something right now.""
Brian: "Yeah, then the police come and ask me shit, and I say I'm ok even though my ear is bleeding everywhere and it hurts like fucking shit.  Everywhere hurts like fucking shit right now.  I swear Stephen, I swear I was waiting for that guy to turn around and threaten me again after the police left.  I would have killed him, I would HAVE LEGIT KILLED HIM.  God, I'm so amped right now."
Me: "Hahahaha, ok ok.  Where are you right now?"
Brian: "No idea, I'm walking around trying to find the MRT.  I've been walking for an hour and I have no fucking idea where I am."
Me: "Uh, still want to go biking around Danshui?"
Brian: "Yeah, what time is it?"
Me: "6 am"
Brian: "Oh shit, I thought it was 2.  Let me get home and we'll talk about it."

Ok...I sit there for a second drinking that in before I fall asleep again.

Eventually I get up, feeling groggy because my already insufficient rest was interrupted, and remember the conversation.  Brian's left me a text saying he's set his alarm for 10am.  I call him and miraculously he picks up, despite having a elephant-sized hangover. We arrange to meet up at Minquan while he's making oatmeal.  Alcohol and oatmeal induced diarrhea keeps him a bit later than he would like, and when we meet up, I get to hear the whole story.  I realize that Brian's gone to one of those clubs I've read about in the tabloids, the kind that are mostly gangster-owned, where people get naked, and patrons get held hostage if their tabs aren't paid.  You occasionally see the police raid such places, and they always get shut down, but it's a losing battle I think.  KTV whore houses aren't going anywhere.  Brian doesn't remember much, just a series of snapshots amidst the debauchery.  Lines of girls coming into a room and summarily getting dismissed by male patrons.  Everyone in the VIP room naked, club girls pouring him libation after libation (padding the bill, which is what they get paid for).  I hear him talking and I know he made out like a bandit with a 1000 NT tab.  He goes on:

Brian: "Yeah, the other guy was pissed, had to pay something like 20,000 NT, but I mean he asked me for all of my money and I gave it to him.  Then he said he'd pay for everything, so fuck him."
Me: "What was that thing about watermelon?'
Brian: "So yeah, they put me in another room when it came time to pay, and keep me hostage there.  But the room's all prepared just like the other VIP rooms, so there's all kinds of sliced fruit on the table.  I ask the guys if I can eat it, and they say ok.  So I'm just sitting there, no idea what's in store for me, munching on some fucking watermelon, laughing my ass off."

Damn, would've liked to have seen the other guy sweating furiously while Brian was in the other room, not a care in the world.  His ear looks like shit, just like the rest of him.  He tells me he feels like puking and I tell him we have thirteen stops until we get to Danshui.  He groans, but keeps steady on his feet until we get there.

The bikes aren't the $100 NT/day bargain they are in Fulong, but this is Taipei, and Danshui to boot, where every boy brings his lover and his wallet.  We rent a couple of shitty cruisers and start riding in the direction of San Domingo Fort.  We pass by a former hospital set up by George McKay, and see some other tangible results of his missionary work.  Before long, we're climbing up a steep hill into a Catholic university, probably something else McKay helped contribute towards.  The grounds are nice, and we ride around, passing by some phone booths and a secret MRT station.  Spotting a rock climbing wall, we try, ironically to scale a much shorter wall to reach it, and fail.  Claiming that we didn't care that much anyway, we ride back the way we came and try to walk our bikes into the actual fort.  The old woman waves us away, even when we try and feign ignorance.  Apparently, we can't walk our bikes in, but we can store them at the front, though we need to give them our passports to do.  Wait...we need to give you our passports so you can take our bikes?  Yeah, fuck you.  We keep cruising.

Up the steep incline to Aletheia University

Former Oxford University College founded by George McKay is now part of the Aletheia College, itself one of the oldest institutions of higher learning in Taipei.

Telephone Booth (haven't seen one of these in ages) and the secret MRT station

Finding new lands to conquer

Mt. Guanyin, as beautiful as always

Former Customs Officer's Residence

It's too goddamn hot for our shirts to stay on, so we peel them off sometime along the way to Fisherman's Wharf.  Remember what I said about getting stared at because you're a foreigner?  Well, somehow people are staring at us even more.  We can tell because when we look at the people passing by their head snaps forward.  Haha, real discreet assholes.  It doesn't really matter to us, the cool breeze while we ride makes us wonder why people aren't following suit.  I feel like shouting to the people walking by, "Cast off your polo shirts, your fashionable t-shirts with their deep English sayings!  Liberate yourselves from the sticky clutches of your clothing and join us!"  The only people I've ever seen walking around bare-chested are fitness buffs, and heavily tanned bums chewing betel nut.  Those guys kick ass.

After the bullshit at Fort San Domingo, we find the bike trail and start cruising again.

These guys did not look happy being chained next to the building in the sweltering heat.  But then again, I'm not a pig, who am I to say?

The bike path merges with the boardwalk and we hold a commanding view of the bay to our left.  Sunlight sparkles over the water, and if it's polluted (which it is, heavily), we see no sign of it this beautiful afternoon.

Arriving at Fisherman's Wharf, we pass by some hokey elevator ride, a shopping plaza, and a hot mermaid statue.  Another boardwalk crops up, and we ride up on it, almost making it onto Lover's Bridge before some random guard tells us to get off the boardwalk.  Probably jealous that we're not wearing clothes.

Looks like a beach side resort in Hawaii.

Cheesy elevator ride.

Better than the elevator ride and also free.

A big square separated us from the shopping plaza and the boardwalk.

Long promenade on the left side of Lover's Bridge with tons of small eateries.
 

Lover's Bridge, chaste during the day, lurid at night.

We continue on, turning left onto a small sandy path and finding ourselves in a tucked-away beach.  A couple is taking their wedding pictures while we stand in the water, facing out towards the sea.  Life is good, and we just stand there, commenting about the trials and tribulations of life in Taiwan, as well as its rewards.  Brian has sweated out his hangover, and his countenance is infinitely improved.

We were told not to dip our feet in the water by a security guy.  Yeah, ok.

We haven't eaten at all since we met up, and while we're getting hungry we still push on.  We get to a seawall, sit down and rest, and then make it the rest of the way to the beach at the end.  Like a couple of kids, we start digging around in the sand for interesting bits of shell and glass and other oddities.  I remember as a teenager I loved to take these conquests back home to display in my rock collection; now that I'm older I know it's just more shit I have to haul around with me.  So we find a likely boulder, and display our finds on its flat surface.  It really is therapeutic to just walk in the sand casting my eyes about, thinking about nothing else but the next find.  What follows next are some pictures that teenage girls on Flickr would envy.

The biking path around Shalun Beach.

A moment to take it all in.

Haven't taken one of these in a while.  Notice my effeminate, unclenched fist.

Suck on this you instagram bitches.

Jesus, look at what we've become.

This blog entry is already getting too long, so suffice it to say we make it back speedily enough, return our bikes, and pick up some awesome falafels, a welcome change from the biandang's (Taiwanese lunch boxes) I've been eating every day.  Brian and I part at Minquan, and I continue on towards Ximending, smelling like shit, since my shirt spent all afternoon mouldering in my backpack.  This stench consumes my thoughts as I sit in the theater watching Superman, and to save the sensitive faculties of the people sitting next to me I move down a row, plopping my backpack right in a puddle of coke.  Fuck.  I guess this is why they have designated seating in the theaters here.  Oh well, just like with the staring, my stench is already at "lots".  It can't get any worse.  With this thought in mind, I sit back, kicking off my seawater soaked sneakers and carefully avoiding the sticky puddle to my left.  And another Sunday slips by.